A/N: Hello, people!

I don't own Sherlock.

I have no beta.

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-REPORT: Nana passed with her best friend holding her hand, telling her that it was okay
to go and that we'd understand why she couldn't stay no matter how hard she tried. The
funeral will be on the 4th. Time for everyone to fly in and for the holidays to end.

-Thank you to everyone who has been so supportive. Trust me, I may put on a straight
face and act as if I'm not bothered by anything around me, but I am a Slytherpuff and my
emotions are always rolling beneath the calm surface. I'm more affected than I thought I'd
be.

-We never really know how we'll handle things until it happens to us and this isn't even
the first death I've had to live through, but it seems more personal than most of the
others. My cat's passing always takes priority however. We also lost him due to tumors
recently and his absence is like someone tore off my dominant arm and leg. It sucksz
 that all this terrible shit had to happen at this time of year.

-I hope everyone else's holidays are going better than mine.

23 December 2015, Wednesday:

"Did you really remove my entire blog post simply to make your own post? Couldn't you just add what you wanted on top of it all?"

Sherlock sipped his tea, resolutely not looking at John who was no doubt sending him an exasperated look over the rim of his own cup.

That had not actually crossed his mind in the least. Foolish.

"You git."

Mummy interrupted then, asking them their plans for the day. Resting by the fire, sledding out in the cold, baking sweets possibly.

Sherlock would have jumped if he could, but he settled for sitting up straighter and letting his eyes widen just a bit. Mummy made the best sweets and she shared the dough. Unlike some people who hogged it all - Mycroft - Mummy was generous.

John was watching with interest. "Someone likes to help bake and I never knew of this?"

With a sniff, Sherlock said, "Mrs. Hudson primarily does the baking. And I… did not wish you to expect it constantly."

"Git."

Lestrade slapped a hand over Mycroft's mouth before the portly man could say anything.

Mummy pretended that her laugh was a cough instead.

No one called her out on it.

Sherlock was quick and only Mycroft had ever caught him before, so he wasn't expecting John to point out his shenanigans.

Mummy would beat the dough and then give him a spoonful and every time she turned around, Sherlock would dip the spoon in again. Mummy would constantly go back for more dough and not realise why it was disappearing so quickly. She never noticed.

'Honestly, the recipe said five dozen not two!'

John had seen him though. Just when he'd thought he was in the clear, John turned around too quickly and snorted, which then caused Mummy to turn around and there Sherlock was, hand halfway into the bowl of dough, trying not to look guilty and knowing that he had failed spectacularly.

Mummy - spatula in hand which was used to swat his arm - proceeded to chastise him, taking the spoon as punishment and giving it to John, telling him that he was a 'good boy' while simultaneously threatening Sherlock - whether she pointed him out or not didn't matter, he knew very well who she meant - that if another five dozen size batch of dough wasn't sitting before her in the next thirty minutes, heads would roll.

Sherlock pouted as John playfully licked the dough off the spoon, quirking a daring brow in his direction.

When Mummy turned away, John brought the tip of the spoon to Sherlock's nose, wiping off some dough and then teasingly leaning in an licking it off before the detective could do anything about it.

Sherlock sputtered, flushed despite himself as John sauntered from the room, licking Sherlock's spoon obscenely.

John did not play fair and Sherlock still found himself liking it.

When he and John went shopping that evening, Sherlock found the perfect gift for his John. He hadn't had the chance to buy his Christmas gift yet and as John didn't appreciate super expensive things - nor would he allow Sherlock to purchase him some fashionable suits to do away with a majority of his shoddy wardrobe - Sherlock was limited.

But he had managed to find it. After the wooing and then the case and getting shot in a foreign country, Sherlock had worried that he wouldn't be able to get his John anything, but it was all settled now.

He hoped John liked it.

Judging by the smile he was getting, John would like anything so long as it came from Sherlock.

The brunet couldn't help but beam at the prospect.

A/N: Another is done!

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